The Scarlet Pen

by Jennifer Uhlarik

  She sniffed and headed toward the main house as he turned toward the barn. Not six steps beyond, something flashed to mind, and he turned again.

  “Miss Draycott.”

  She faced him. “Yes?”

  “A scripture as we part ways. ‘Trust in the Lord with all thine heart, and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.’ ”

  “I’m very familiar with Proverbs chapter three, Mr. Timmons.”

  “Figured you were. Do me a favor and pray that I would not lean on my own understanding in my investigation, and I’ll pray the same for you in your relationship with Mr. Richards. Reckon if we do, then God can direct us both to the truth, whatever that is. Deal?”

  She wore her irritation as boldly as a brightly colored blanket, but she nodded nonetheless. “Deal.”

  Near Kearney, Nebraska

  “Looks like you made a friend.”

  At Jasper Harlson’s sleepy voice, Stephen peeked toward the bedroom doorway, trying not to disturb little Mabel as she cuddled against his shoulder sucking her thumb. In the seat beside him, Daisy sat with her little brother on her lap, making faces at the boy while he giggled.

  “Mabel crawled up here the minute I came out, and she hasn’t left since.”

  “She’s a sweet girl, isn’t she?” Jasper ran his hand over the child’s curls as he walked by, tugging his suspenders into place. He paused long enough to pull Daisy’s braid and ruffle Jesse’s downy hair as he passed.

  Mabel was sweet. All the children were, but the middle girl had melted his heart the night before when she’d fallen asleep in his arms as the adults talked. Now, this morning, she’d wrapped one pudgy arm about his neck and laid her head on his shoulder, seemingly content to wake up slowly in his arms.

  “I hope one day Emma and I might have one like her.”

  “When you marryin’ her?” Jasper walked to the stove where Mary was scrambling eggs. Ever so boldly, he grabbed her from behind, buried his mustached mouth against her neck, and kissed her.

  She cackled and squirmed, then gave him an elbow to the ribs. “Don’t you start, now. Not unless you want your eggs burned.”

  Undeterred, Jasper plucked the spoon from her grasp, then forcibly turned her to face him. Pulling her to him, he pressed a heated kiss to her lips, and she appeared to return it.

  Without reservation, Stephen watched their intimate banter. What might it be like to touch Emma in such a way? To kiss her so passionately? As he’d written in the previous day’s letter, he’d enjoyed the first. It kept him warm at night—but he’d often let his mind wander to more than kissing.

  “Richards!”

  Jolted from his imaginings, he rubbed Mabel’s back and focused on the Harlsons. Jasper still held his wife as they both peered at him.

  “When are you marryin’ her?”

  “I dunno. A year. Two, maybe. We haven’t talked about it. I need to prove myself to her father first. Show him I can provide for her.”

  The other man rolled his eyes as he let go of Mary and sat at the opposite end of the table. “How you gonna do that?”

  Stephen shrugged. “I told him I had some possible business partners I would work with to start something.”

  “You here because you’re wantin’ to work with me? ’Cause like I told ya, I won’t be startin’ back at it for some months yet. I’d be happy to have ya once I do, though.”

  “I’ve got some others I can talk to, some other ideas. I’ll figure it out.”

  “Reckon you will. So what’re your plans for today?”

  Mabel squirmed in his arms and pulled away, turning to look at her father. Pulling her thumb from her mouth, she wiggled out of Stephen’s grasp and toddled to Jasper’s side. He scooped her up, and within an instant, she snuggled against him.

  What would it be like to have a child with Emma? To wake up in the mornings to cuddles and hold a drowsy babe each night? He blinked away the thoughts and focused on his friend. “Need to mail a letter to my girl, and I need to find myself a horse and saddle. Mary said you might be able to help with that.”

  “I know someone with some good saddle stock, if they’re willin’ to sell. You got money?”

  “Plenty.” And Munson had promised him more once they met up in a few weeks.

  Mount Pleasant, Ohio

  How dare he! Thank goodness Clay Timmons was leaving. Hopefully, he’d go and she wouldn’t ever speak to him again. That infernal man had an uncanny way of getting her flustered and out of sorts.

  Emma entered the house and headed for the stairs. With his departure, she’d soon forget his exasperating conjecture about Stephen’s supposed guilt. He’d given her no specifics as to why Stephen didn’t “set right” with him, so why should she heed his warnings? What could he possibly know?

  Nothing at all.

  She trudged up the steps and, reaching the landing, saw her mother exiting Cynthia’s bedroom.

  Mama’s brows arched. “You look upset.”

  She sighed. “Quite frankly, I’m glad that man is leaving.”

  Reaching for her hand, Mama drew her toward her bedroom only feet beyond. Shutting the door, she smiled a half-hearted smile. “Your sister is not, so if you don’t mind, let’s have this conversation where she won’t hear us.”

  “This is exactly what I tried to warn him of.”

  “You tried to warn Mr. Timmons?”

  “Just now, before he rode out.”

  Mama sat on the edge of Emma’s bed and patted the fluffy mattress. “What did you warn him of, dear?”

  “Not to break Cynthia’s heart, but it appears he may already have.”

  “Not intentionally, I’m sure. You know how young girls are. He’s not done anything inappropriate or unseemly. Or have I missed something?”

  Emma huffed. “No, Mama. Clay Timmons was a perfect gentleman. So much so my baby sister has fallen head over heels for the man. If she were older and he younger, I’d say he’d be exactly the sort I’d want to take an interest in her.”

  “Yet something bothers you about him.”

  “Yes! The fact that he’s pursuing Stephen, a man I’ve known half my life. Yet, after one or two brief meetings and a week of investigation, Mr. Timmons apparently thinks he knows Stephen better than I and has tried to sour my thoughts of him.”

  “How has he done that?”

  “He gave me a polite warning to be careful and said that his investigation kept crossing paths with Stephen’s. But he wouldn’t tell me how. He wouldn’t tell me anything.”

  Silent for a moment, Mama took Emma’s hand. “I’m sure you won’t like my question, but is there any validity to his warning?”

  “Mama, we’re talking about Stephen!” She tried to pull back her hand, but her mother held her fast.

  “Hear me out. Yes, you’ve known him for half your life. And then he left for a time, went to help his sister and her husband for fourteen months. When he left, he was still a skinny boy, but he returned a strapping man.”

  “Yes, that’s what attracted me to him—he’d changed so.”

  When Mama spoke, her pointed words were gentle. “And what if his physical stature isn’t the only thing that changed? What do you really know of Stephen now?”

  The question stung, no matter how gently it was spoken.

  “Listen to me, please.”

  Emma managed to sit still despite every fiber in her screaming to fidget and squirm.

  “I know you’ve cared for Stephen for a very long time, but standing up for him when he was being picked on by bigger, older children is a far cry from marrying him and spending your life with the man. Promise me you’ll take an honest look, not through the eyes of a silly schoolgirl, but as a clear-eyed, adult woman. Look and listen carefully to everything he says and really see if it bears witness with the truth you hold in your heart.”

  “Mama, he says good things. Look!” She wiggled her fingers free of her mother’s grasp and dr
ew the letter she’d received from her pocket. Unfolding it, she scooted closer and held the note so her mother could see it.

  After a moment, Mama exhaled softly. “It’s a very sweet note, but this is but one part of what you need to judge. Surely you understand that. Think about the time you’ve spent with him, the things he’s said, and the way he’s acted. If it all matches up, your father and I will be thrilled for you both.”

  Her annoyance mounting, Emma folded the letter and tucked it back in her pocket. She fought to keep her tone measured and respectful. “I appreciate your concern, Mama, but I know Stephen. He’s a Christian man with a good heart, and he loves me.”

  “I pray so.” She cupped one of Emma’s cheeks with her hand and leaned close to kiss the other. “Your father and I only want what’s best for you.” Mama stood and walked to the door. “Would you check on your sister in a few minutes?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  With a placid smile, Mama exited the room.

  Once the door clicked closed, Emma collapsed backward into her mattress with a soft groan. “Lord God in heaven, make Mama, Papa, and Mr. Timmons all see what I do in Stephen. Let them not lean on their own understanding. You direct their paths to the truth. Please!”

  Stephen stepped from the small post office and glanced around the street. Jasper had taken Daisy on to school and promised to meet him at the mercantile, though he’d warned it might take him a bit. Harlson needed to speak to Daisy’s teacher about a matter, he’d said.

  Tugging at his coat’s collar to block the icy wind, Stephen headed across the street and down several storefronts.

  “Help you with something?” the gentleman behind the counter called out in greeting.

  “I’m waiting to meet someone here shortly.”

  “Feel free to look around. If I can help with anything, give a shout.”

  He nodded to the man and looked at the various displays the store had to offer. Shelves behind the counter were lined with cans and bottles. The glass apothecary case boasted any number of cure-alls. A shelf in one corner displayed varying shades and patterns of solid, calico, and plaid fabrics. Not far from it was a small collection of shoes and boots as well as a few hats and bonnets. It was a far cry from the upscale offerings of Melcher’s Emporium, but these were all of a more practical sort.

  The door opened, and Stephen spun, expecting Jasper. Instead, a young, petite woman with dark hair and perfect skin approached the counter.

  “I understand you have a community board where people can post ads.”

  “Yes, miss. Might I see the ad first?” She passed him a handbill, which he looked over and handed back. “On the wall there. Find yourself an empty spot.”

  “Thank you.” Her lovely features lit with her smile.

  She crossed to the board littered with papers and, searching, stood on her tiptoes in an attempt to attach the page to a high nail.

  Seeing her struggle, Stephen rushed over. “Might I help?”

  The young lady sank back to her heels, a genuine grin lighting her features. “Thank you, sir. There in the corner is fine.” She motioned to the nail she hadn’t been able to reach.

  Stephen glanced at the handbill advertising a singer coming to entertain the town of Hastings five nights hence. He’d passed through Hastings on his way to Kearney.

  “This is a bit far, isn’t it?”

  “Fifty miles, or thereabouts. It may be too far for some, but I’m helping to organize the event. Since I was coming to Kearney to visit my cousin, I thought I’d post the handbills anyway. What can it hurt, right?”

  Her shy smile sent a thrill through him. “Right.” He placed the advertisement on the nail and focused on her again. “I’ll be meeting a friend further east in a few weeks. Perhaps I’ll leave early and see what Hastings has to offer. Might I call on you if I do, Miss—?”

  The young lady pressed her lips together, looking both bashful and pleased. “Dolly … Gillis. And I don’t know anything about you.”

  “No, you don’t. But I’d entertain any question you have over coffee, if you’re willing.” He turned to the store proprietor. “This town has a restaurant, doesn’t it?”

  “A couple. There’s one just up the street in that direction.” He pointed.

  He faced Miss Gillis again. “What do you say?”

  Her face flushed crimson, and she laughed. “Not until you give me your name.”

  “Stephen Dee Richards.”

  The bashful look grew. “All right, coffee. In an hour. There’s another matter I have to take care of first.”

  “An hour it is.” He made a slight bow. “Miss Gillis.”

  The young lady nodded to him, then the proprietor. “Good day.”

  Stephen watched the swing of her heavy skirts as she departed, his heart pounding at the sight.

  “Ain’t you got a silver tongue?” the man called from behind the counter once Miss Gillis was well out of earshot.

  Too pleased to speak, Stephen grinned as he looked at the ads on the board. Another handbill caught his eye, and he pulled it from its nail. “Do you know anything about this horse and buggy for sale?” He crossed the room and handed the page to the man.

  “Looked like a nice rig, fine horses. Belongs to a young gent from out of town. Said he’d be here a few days. Anyone interested is supposed to ask at the hotel a block over.”

  “That’s very helpful. Thank you.” With an hour before he was to meet Miss Gillis, he might have enough time to make a deal.

  Steubenville, Ohio

  “I’ll find you a cozy stall and some extra oats real soon, boy. Promise.” Clay patted Rio’s neck.

  As Steubenville came into view ahead, Rio picked up the pace, seeming anxious to get into town. Clay couldn’t blame the buckskin. The twenty-mile ride between Mount Pleasant and Steubenville had taken several hours. The first two had been bitterly cold. He could’ve shortened it if he’d demanded more speed of the horse, but Stephen Richards was already a week or more ahead of him. Racing his horse to make up a few hours of travel time wouldn’t make any difference.

  Clay turned into the city, a bustling metropolis compared to Mount Pleasant, and stopped to ask a store owner sweeping his front walkway for directions to the police headquarters. He rode to the office at the center of town and tied Rio at the hitching post.

  Inside, a young, uniformed officer greeted him. “How can I help you, sir?”

  Pulling out his commission book, Clay displayed his badge. “I’m Clay Timmons with the Secret Service. I’d like to speak to whoever’s in charge, please.”

  The officer inspected the badge then offered Clay a chair while he knocked on a door at the back of the room. The man disappeared inside then reemerged and beckoned him. “Mr. Timmons?”

  Clay followed him into the office where the young man introduced him to the chief, Jim Petry.

  “How can I help you, Mr. Timmons?”

  “I’ve been investigating some counterfeit banknotes that were passed in Mount Pleasant, and I keep coming across two names, Stephen Richards and a man using two different names—Mundy and Mull. I’ve reason to believe these two might be together, and they may have traveled to Steubenville. You wouldn’t happen to have come across them in the last week or so, would you?”

  Chief Petry’s attention honed sharply as Clay described each man. “Slim, red hair, and muttonchop whiskers. That’s who you’re looking for?”

  “Yes, and the other stands maybe six feet tall with a crop of dark, curly hair, mustache, and gray eyes.”

  The police chief leaned heavily on one arm of his chair. “I haven’t come across ’em, but that’s not for lack of trying.” Petry rose and grabbed his hat and coat from the rack in the corner. “Why don’t you come with me. Want you to meet someone.”

  Clay followed the man several blocks to a home with a shingle announcing it was a doctor’s office. At Petry’s knock, a bald-headed man answered and showed them into an upstairs bedroom. There a rotund ma
n with a sickly complexion rested in a chair beside the window.

  “How’re you feeling today, Mr. Gemge?” Petry asked the man.

  “Some better.” He tugged the quilt draped on his lap up over one shoulder and nodded in Clay’s direction. “Who’s this?”

  “Clay Timmons. He’s with the Secret Service.”

  The sickly man’s face twisted in concern. “What does the Secret Service want with me?”

  “I’m not rightly sure.” Clay faced the police chief. “You want to explain, Petry?”

  “Mr. Gemge was found unconscious outside of town about a week ago. Stab wound to the belly. He’s been fightin’ for his life since.”

  Clay’s muscles knotted. Lord, please tell me this isn’t headed where I think it is.

  Petry looked at Gemge. “Why don’t you describe the fella that stabbed you—and his partner.”

  Gemge shrugged. “The one what tried to gut me, he was kinda big. Tall and a little on the heavy side but not fat. Dark hair, kinda messy curls that flopped across his forehead. And a dark mustache. No beard. His friend was smaller. Thin, with fire-red hair and a funny beard. What d’ya call it—uh, lamb chops?” He touched one cheek.

  “Muttonchops.”

  “Yeah, those.” He laid his head back, looking like the conversation taxed him.

  “How long ago did this happen?” Lord, please let Petry have the timing wrong, for Emma’s sake.

  Gemge blinked as he tousled his hair. “I dunno. Lost track of days after that man stuck me.”

  “It was my wife’s birthday,” the doctor said from over Clay’s shoulder. “February second.”

  The same date as the postmark on the letter Stephen sent from Steubenville. “And which one stabbed you?” He had to be sure he’d heard correctly.

  “The big one.”

  Clay scrubbed at the back of his neck, trying to rid himself of the chill that ran the length of his spine. “Were you fighting, or did he attack you unprovoked?”

  “I was camped outside town. It was colder’n a witch’s drawers out there, so I’d taken some nips of whiskey. A lot of nips. Fact is, I was pretty far into my bottle when these two rode up and wanted to share my fire.”